


Before the Costumes

by Bat_Snacks (Pyre_Prism)



Series: First Impressions at 4AM [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Coffee Shop, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pyreverse, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 19:25:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15274581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyre_Prism/pseuds/Bat_Snacks
Summary: Apparently, there's no better time to meet someone than early in the morning...





	Before the Costumes

**Author's Note:**

> I'd just like to apologise if I got anything wrong about how coffee shops and similar actually 'work' in America. I've never been to America, and so I can only go from what I've seen in American movies and television series.

Edward barely paid any mind to the ambient noise in the coffee shop. The laptop in front of him held most of his attention, one hand periodically reaching for the cooling coffee to the side to bring the cup up to his lips, only for him to remember that he actually didn’t like the beverage as much when it was cold. That’s not to say that it was too noisy in the small space, but there was enough to provide a pleasant static of sorts to focus his thoughts through.

The pale red-haired man had come to this open-from-three-in-the-morning-‘til-midnight hole-in-the-wall several times since returning to Gotham City, especially during the early hours of the day… such as now. It was one of the few things he remembered in the slightest of pleasant lights from before he’d taken a scholarship in Metropolis several years earlier; the cosy wood-panelled walls had sheltered him from more than a few turbulent rollercoasters of reality in his teenage years, and he had truthfully been glad to see the corner table furthest from the door had been vacant when he entered. Over the course of his many visits, it was now practically his table, after all… and was certainly more ‘his’ than any spot in his father’s old hovel…

But, he was allowing himself to be distracted.

The bell above the door chimed, pulling Edward out of his thoughts and drawing his eyes up to look at the newest arrival. It was –unsurprisingly– someone he didn’t recognise. The man was very tall and very thin, dressed in a cheap crumpled suit. All in all, the man looked… rather worn and even quite… ‘brown’; his clothes were a generic mixture of plain browns making up a too-short ensemble coupled with a white button-up shirt that had to have seen better days, his briefcase looked like it had once been black but had since given way to an array of horrific scuff marks, his hair was a deep auburn mess that stuck up from his scalp like caramel-coloured thatching, his skin was tanned so darkly that it was almost a wonder the man wasn’t walking around with leather covering his body instead of regular human skin –plenty of scars, too, which tickled annoyingly at his curiosity.

Edward’s green eyes tracked the newcomer’s actions, watching him scan the shop with a piercing blue stare for a moment, searching for an open table. The man’s stare locked onto him, and Edward smiled –silently daring the stranger to do something, anything, about it. He raised an eyebrow when the other merely smirked slightly and picked his way through the place to claim the table closest to his own.

“It’s not polite to stare,” the taller redhead stated once he was seated and his briefcase had been placed almost delicately on the tabletop. There was a note of wry amusement embedded deeply into the man’s voice, and it made Edward grin slightly. “You look like a regular; their coffee any good?”

“Oh, quite. Though, I can’t say I much care for it after I’ve been distracted so thoroughly for so long.” He held up his cup for emphasis. “I think this one has… gone about half an hour without being simmered… but then, that wasn’t technically the fault of the staff.” Edward’s fingers danced across the keys of his laptop for a few seconds before he shut the machine and returned his attention to his impromptu conversation partner. “By the way, my name is Edward.”

The scarred man paused, weighing something in his mind for a moment before giving what he could only describe as a micro-shrug. “Jonathan.” One of his hands reached out for Edward to shake –it was large, especially compared to the man’s bony wrist, with long and thin fingers that any musician or surgeon would sell their soul for. “Do you often bring your work to a place like this at four in the morning?”

“There are worse choices. At least this one’s in the Burnley district, rather than the Cauldron.” Edward replied with a fully-realised shrug of his own after giving Jonathan’s hand a firm shake. “What about yourself? With you carrying something like that around,” he nodded at the man’s briefcase, “you’ve got to have some form of ‘work’ in there.” Jonathan’s expression… flickered –for lack of a better word– between bemusement and attentive curiosity, his eyes snapping to the leather case then back to him.

“Sometimes. Even in this day and age, there are things that work better on paper.” Jonathan said at last. “What sort of work do you do?”

They were interrupted by a young waitress coming over to the thin man’s table. “Hey there, what’ll you have?” she asked, pulling a notepad and pen out from one of her apron pockets.

“Hm… well, coffee, for starters. Black, and—…” a sudden yawn struck him, “…quick as you can, please, darlin’.”

The twang that had crept into the previously-impeccable Gothamite accent had Edward arching an eyebrow for the second time that morning. Miraculously, however, he managed to keep his mouth shut while the girl took the order and tottered off to fulfil it. He waited for all of a minute before the urge to say something overwhelmed him. “What about you, what’s your ‘story’?”

“What, you a journalist?” Jonathan asked, blinking, then shook his head. His voice was back to the Gothamite accent, slipping into it like a well-worn glove. “You first, Edward.”

He offered a quiet chuckle. “Very well. I suppose you could say that I’m a glorified security guard for people’s invisible lives.”

“There are a couple of ways that could be taken…” A low hum accompanied the statement, and it was quickly paired with a surprisingly-blank smile –Edward was actually impressed at just how much the man’s expression didn’t say.

“Ever heard of cyber-safety?”

“Personal security in a digital medium, yes?” was Jonathan’s response.

“I… well… Yes, but…” Edward sighed. “How very textbook… Let me guess, you’re a teacher?”

The tall redhead’s face twisted into a dark scowl for a second before smoothing out into a mere frown. “I was.”

That caused a nagging feeling in the back of Edward’s mind to flare up, as if there was something he should be connecting the dots between… between that and something else he’d absorbed at one point or another. However, he shoved it closer to the end of his mental waiting list, deciding to ponder the topic after he was alone once more. “And now?”

Jonathan sighed, although the tiny smirk that wormed its way across his angular features lessened the effect somewhat. “Now, I work at Blackgate. I used to split my time between the university and the prison, before… that. Although, I’ve been hearing talk that they’re thinking of getting the old asylum back up and running –might see about switching over to it, if it happens.”

“Why not just stay at the prison, rather than take an entirely new job? Most people would prefer the stability.”

“The patients would be more interesting.” Bony shoulders rose and fell in jerking motions that somehow looked almost natural on the taller man. “The stranger, the better… and yet there’s only so much variety in those on death row, for example.” The waitress returned with Jonathan’s coffee, and he offered her a smile. Edward snickered inwardly as she returned the brittle expression with a cheery but tired smile of her own, wondering just how gullible she was, to see something like that as either warm or friendly. “Much obliged.”

“It’s only natural to prefer a challenge, if you happen to be fortunate enough to sit on the more intelligent side of the playground, isn’t it?” Edward paused. “So, you’re a psychiatrist, hm?”

“Yes.” Jonathan smirked around his drink, oozing an almost obscene amount of pride at the fact.

Edward inspected him a little closer. “You look a bit young… Doesn’t that sort of profession generally keep you in training wheels until you’re thirty or more, supposing you go to it first rather than some other occupation?” Another shrug and a non-committal grunt were his only answers. “Still, it’s almost amusing… You and I are –in a way– in the same business.”

“Mmn? How so?”

“Let’s just say that I paid for my coffee with second-hand dirty money.”

He watched the other redhead turn Edward’s words over in his mind. “So, police, then?”

“Head of the Cybercrime Division, as of… oh, eighteen hours ago, actually.”

A chuckle burbled in the thin man’s chest. “Didn’t peg you for that kind of ‘glorified security guard’, to be honest. You look more like a stereotypical librarian.”

Edward snorted. “Oh, so the conversation’s going down that route? Well, in that case, you look like a stereotypical farm-boy trying to make it in the big city.”

Jonathan shook his head. “I guess I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

“You did. Blindly.”

A muffled ringtone suddenly interrupted the both of them, and Edward smirked as his new acquaintance started, set his cup aside and fumbled with the latches on his briefcase for a few seconds before getting the case to open. He leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse at its contents, but Jonathan’s hands were quicker, snatching the ringing phone out and closing the case in one quick sequence of motion.

“This is Crane… What? He’s… oh, for the love of… Double the dosage. Yes, I know what I’m… Fine! I was going to be on my wa—… Yes, I know what time it is; you’re the one who called me. Alright.” He cut off the call with perhaps a bit more force than was strictly deserved, gave the small machine a sour grimace, then tucked it into an interior pocket of his suit jacket. A moment later, and he’d poured the remainder of his coffee down what had to be a cast-iron throat. “Well, it was nice talking with you, Edward, but… duty calls.”

“Not a problem.” Edward shrugged. “It was rather pleasant to have someone to talk to who’s closer to my own level.” He smiled. “I’m usually here for the early morning lull… perhaps we’ll catch up again some other time, Doctor Crane?”

Jonathan chuckled wryly. “So you caught that, did you? Perhaps… perhaps.”

And with that, he stood, dropped a few bills onto the table, and –with a single jaunty wave– left the shop, briefcase tightly in-hand…

It didn’t take Edward very much longer to do likewise… not including finishing off his cold coffee.

 


End file.
